


Dorne fragment

by nehemiah



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:02:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2098347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nehemiah/pseuds/nehemiah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something I started, and abandoned, pre-Carrion (you’ll notice I recycled, or ‘Qyburned’, some lines for that fic). Inspired by hearing that Jaime goes to Dorne in S5…</p><p>(Presumably: one Targaryen or another is on the throne, the Lannisters and Tyrells are broken, and Jaime is in internal exile in Sunspear).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dorne fragment

It was another warm day, and sunlight filtered into the room from an ornately slatted window, casting patterns of bright light and shadow across an old stone table. It was the height of daytime and the air was uncomfortably hot, even in the shade.

But the last of the Tyrells had been here long enough to grow accustomed to it. He leaned back from the table, earning a theatrical sigh from the other side of the game board.

You needed patience for this game, he mused. Patience, and the ability to put aside the immediate and see the wider picture. His opponent had never had these qualities. The set they were playing with now had been a gift from the Prince himself, on one of the few time he’d been invited out to the Water Gardens. The old man seemed to be obsessed with the game. _Imagine seeing the whole world like a cyvasse board_ , he thought. _Small wonder that Dorne had held the balance of power, and longer than anyone had realised._

‘Patience,’ said Willas out loud, and _then_ moved his hand.

A black horseman galloped across the board – _Willas could feel the impact of its hooves, the wind flying past his face_ \- and another bone-coloured piece joined the ranks of the fallen.

‘Yes, well,’ grunted the other man. ‘I never had much luck in white.’

Willas levered himself up from the table, took up his cane, and limped over to the window. Sunspear’s shadow town stretched out beneath his gaze, a hive of activity even at this hour, the tumbledown buildings eventually giving way to scorched grassland and scrub off to the south. It was… a long way from Highgarden, in every sense.

A _clack_ from the board drew his attention. Lannister had, predictably enough, moved one of his dragons into a defensive position. This man never realised the value of a good defence, at least not until the battle was already half lost.

‘Hiding behind a dragon, my lord? If only a fool were present, I’m sure he could come up with _all manner_ of drollery.’

A golden hand rapped against the table. ‘You would get along well with my brother, WIllas. I’m sure having me locked up with you was his idea of a cruel joke. And I’m nobody’s lord.’

‘Slaying a dragon is a serious crime, my friend. Like _so_ –‘

Jaime’s sharp comment at losing another piece was interrupted by the arrival of a fair-haired youth in red, trailed by two pages. Willas regarded the boy, how tall he’d grown since he’d arrived in Dorne, how he’d shed the fat of his youth, bar a certain roundness in the cheeks. That was the kind of thing the boy’s future wife would probably find charming. _Lannister_ was not the name it had once been, but how many women could say that their husband had once been King?

‘Forgive me, Lord, Uncle-‘ he began, but Willas indulgently waved off the boy’s apologies.

‘What is so important that you had to interrupt the leisure time of two old cripples?’ demanded Jaime, but the fondness in his eyes belied his stern expression.

‘There’s a ship coming into harbour,’ said Tommen earnestly. ‘A skiff.‘

‘That’s all? I hardly-‘ Jaime broke off as the boy whispered something in his ear. A faraway look entered Jaime’s eyes.

‘That can’t be.’

Then he stood abruptly, his metallic hand knocking a bone-coloured spearman off the edge of the table where it clattered noisily on the uncarpeted floor.

‘Ah,’ he began. ‘Forgive me, Willas, I have to – there’s been – I must get down to the docks.’

Willas gave him a too-cheerful smile. ‘Of course. Why don’t I come along?’ he offered. ‘And so that our dear Dornish friends do not assume this is some desperate escape attempt, we’ll collect a couple of guards along the way.’

Jaime’s expression darkened, but he nodded. _The caged lion. For all his jests, he still hates thinking of himself as a prisoner._

‘We can pick up our game later. I must admit I’m curious as to what could make this jaded old lion as excited as a boy on his nameday.’

Jamie turned away without answering and led the group out, and soon the room was still but for motes of dust dancing in the shafts of sunlight.

 

 

Before long Jaime was growling with impatience. The walk from the Tower down to the docks in the shadow town was almost half a mile, and the press of the crowds and Willas’ damn hobbling had slowed them down to what seemed like a crawl. They came to a halt some half an hour later at the edge of a sun-bleached wooden jetty, facing out into the deep blue waters of the Narrow Sea. Jaime’s guards kept the children and beggars at a distance, while stevedores buzzed around preparing their ropes and pulleys to unload cargo.

There _was_ a long sleek skiff gliding into the harbour. Hardly a deepwater vessel, Jaime thought. It must have been have hugging the coast all the way down from -

– _it’s flying crescent moons and sunbursts,_ the boy had whispered–

-from Tarth.

‘Also flies flag of Grandview,’ grunted the dark-skinned foreman of the docks, inspecting the vessel through a glass. ‘Seen him before, but not for a few years. Captain’s a Pentoshi. Probably looking for a place to sell looted goods. Stormlands has all gone to shit.’

Jaime felt his fist clench. Some freebooter, come to get rich selling the boots and swords of dead men, flying a banner torn from the walls of a burned castle… maybe, if he had an opportunity, he’d see how fast these damned guards really were.

‘And where does such trade stand under Dornish law?’

The foreman shrugged. ‘It happens. If he’s a loyal subject, and the dead men were rebels, then it’s all fair, all good. Everyone got to eat.’

 _Rebels_. Defending your home against an army of sellswords flying the flag of a pretender made you a traitor? Jaime thought of the advice Dayne had given him so long ago, about settling his mind before a battle. He tried to make his breathing steady and regular, put his emotions to one side, and concentrate on what was in front of him. He focussed on the sigil of Grandview, a sleeping lion on a yellow field. _That could be the symbol of my exile_ , he though bitterly.

Beneath the twin banners, hanging almost limp in the stifling stillness of the day, the deck was stacked with crates of cargo. Such a narrow vessel probably didn’t have much of a hold. _Then_ his eye was drawn to a figure by the bows, a head taller than the sailors and poker-straight, standing to attention like a soldier on the parade ground.

The breath Jaime had been carefully holding hissed out all at once.

The dockers had moved into action and were catching mooring ropes thrown by the crewmen. Between the men running across his field of vision, he caught glimpses of blonde hair and worn leathers, and, as the vessel moved flush with the jetty, he recognised bright blue eyes, fixed at some point in the middle distance.

‘Seven gods.’

As if in response, as if she could possibly have heard, the figure turned its eyes on the little group stood by the dock. Those hands, held firmly by her sides, began to fidget, and she clasped them behind their back.

It seemed to Jaime that only a heartbeat had passed before the ship had come to a halt and the unloading was underway, choreographed by shrill blasts of the foreman’s whistle. Amid all that, s _he_ was jogging purposefully down the gangplank, hands still clutched in the same position, coming to a halt in front of them. A couple of men dumped a large bundle onto the stones behind her.

There was a moment’s silence before Jaime found the wits to speak.

‘My Lord Willas, Tommen. I have the great honour of introducing you to Lady Brienne of Tarth.’

Brienne bowed to them, then turned and looked at Jamie for the first time. _Still the same astonishing eyes_ , he reflected. _Almost worth waiting for._

‘Ser Jaime’ she said shortly.

‘I’m not a knight anymore… my lady. I’ve been stripped of all my titles.’

At that, Brienne looked down at the ground, and in a soft voice that made Jaime feel lightheaded, simply said ‘No… you will always be a knight.’

               

They found servants to carry the lady’s luggage, and the party made their way back up through the old town, Jaime half-hearing their innocuous chatter about the weather and the sailing conditions.

Dayne be damned, his mind was running away with him now. Questions and speculations and fears were chasing each other around his head until it ached. Halfway up the steep path to the castle, the red sandstone gates looming above them, he slumped dizzily against a carved pillar.

‘Uncle?’ said Tommen, and he felt the boy’s concerned hand on his arm, though all he could see were purple and blue flashes.

‘I’m fine,’ he said vaguely. ‘Probably just the heat.’ He took a few deep breaths and waited for his vision to clear. He didn’t need to see Brienne, he could picture the worried, brow-creased frown on her face. ‘Ah… tell me something, my lady… is this just a fleeting visit, or… will you be gracing us with your presence for longer?’

He looked up and saw Brienne’s stiff expression twitching. ‘Ser Jamie… you once offered me your hospitality. If you… if the invitation is still open…’

They stood in silence for a moment.

Willas cleared his throat dramatically. ‘Guards! I think we can trust our prisoner not to abscond at this point. Wait for him inside. And Tommen! We must go to the aviary and choose you a bird for tomorrow’s hunt. If my lady will pardon us. The men will put your baggage in my chambers for now. You can both join us for supper later.’

He gave a stiff bow, and within moments, Jaime and Brienne were left alone. He was still leaning heavily against the pillar, good hand massaging his temples. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

‘I thought… I thought you’d gone to Winterfell.’

She shook her head. ‘I turned back. I couldn’t go through with what I planned.’

 

 

He remembered a cold night, months ago…

She was slumped down against a dead tree, in the half-sheltered rocky gully where they’d made their camp, eyes fixed unseeingly on the blade she’d named Oathkeeper. Black rings circled her eyes, and greasy hair hung limply around her face.

‘You should take your sword back, Ser. Lady Stark’s daughters are beyond my help now.’

‘It was a _gift_ , Brienne. It is yours.’

‘I’ve failed her,’ she said dully. ‘Just as I failed Lord Renly. If I cannot keep my oaths, what am I?’

Jaime had wanted to say a dozen things, but the counsel of a many-time oathbreaker didn’t seem to be what the wench needed. She’d wept loud and long that night, roughly shaking off his attempts to comfort her.

‘I’m not leaving you alone, Brienne,’ he vowed. ‘You are free of your oath now, through no fault of yours. I’ll escort you home to your father, and you’ll see his pride in what you have become. Or… you could come with me.’

His only answer was the sound of the rain falling. She’d leaned her head back against the trunk, the tears still glimmering in the moonlight, and drifted into a numb half-sleep.

The next day, they’d met a tinker on the road who carried the news from the coast; the landing of the Golden Company, the ravaging of Tarth. Brienne had gone deathly pale. Jaime recognised the terror that must have been twisting her guts.

‘We must go there, Ser. I h-have to know-‘

But in the common room of the inn they stayed in that night, they’d heard the whole story, about what had happened at Evenfall. Brienne went as mute and sullen as he remembered when they’d heard about the Red Wedding, on their way back from Harrenhal. Her earlier grief and fear vanished, replaced by a grim determination.

‘I have only one promise left to keep,’ she told him softly, out in the yard. ‘Something I promised I would do for Renly. I must ride north.’

‘You don’t have to,’ he whispered, but he recognised the look in the wench’s eyes, and the way she’d stuck out her jaw. There would be no reasoning with such stubbornness.

She took his good hand in hers, and spoke hoarsely and slowly, the words sounding like they’d been dredged up from great depths. ‘You have been good to me, Ser Jamie. I thank you for it.’

He’d watched her ride out of sight. And that had seemed to be the end of it.

 

‘You turned back?’ he echoed.

She looked down into the bazaars, face empty of expression.

‘All my life, I have placed my vows and my word above all else. But how could I face Winterfell? It would only remind me of my greatest failure. And how could I face Stannis and his army? All I could hear were the words of Lady Stark, when she persuaded me to _live_ , to flee from Lord Renly’s camp. And then I thought of what she became… later.’

Jaime understood that. He saw those lifeless eyes, and heard the rasping voice from that slashed throat, almost every night.

‘I pity her for what she became, Jaime. To be fighting a war long after it is over. To remember every grudge and every slight, and be taken from your rest to avenge them all. The Red Wedding happened because Lord Frey thought an old grudge justified breaking the laws of gods and men. The Riverlands –‘ her voice broke ‘-I rode through the Riverlands for a year. The armies had come and gone, avenging each other’s slights, and all that was left were ashes, crows, and orphans.’

‘I have heard men say that Stannis is honourable. Why he did what he did, why he consorts with his red witch, I do not know, but – I will not throw my life away in pursuit of his. The world needs to be rebuilt. If we avenge every wound, there will be nobody left alive.’

Jaime guessed that this was an argument she had run through in her head many, many times. _Like she’s trying to convince herself_. Her eyes were fixed on him, shining, daring him to challenge her.

‘Will you call me a coward, ser, or an oathbreaker?’ She drew a shuddering breath. ‘I am three-and-twenty. In the years since I left home, I have seen nothing but horror, betrayal, and loss. Now I have no home to go back to, and no-one to care if I did.’

He stood in silence for a moment, then stepped forward and moved his arms loosely around her, taking her right elbow in his good hand. She stiffened a little, but did not back away.

‘I _know_ you are neither of those things. And I am sorry for all that you have lost, my lady. If you seek reassurance, I will gladly give it to you. You were not wrong to turn away. We have all seen enough war.’

She looked down at him uncertainly,

‘The war has not come here, Brienne,’ he said earnestly, meeting her gaze. ‘Winter has not arrived either. The sun is warm, the days are long, the fields are wide and-‘

Now his eyes were screwed shut and he could feel the dizziness returning. ‘Stay here. With me. Please.’ He breathed in suddenly, aware that he’d said too much, and added ‘for a while. At least?’

Brienne nodded, swallowing, and managed a limp smile in answer to his own.

 

The bundle that represented all of Brienne’s worldly possessions had been emptied out onto the floor of Willas’s chamber. Jaime could see illuminated books, some scorched by fire. A few pieces of clothing. A heavy oak shield with a sigil Jaime thought looked vaguely familiar. The banner with the arms of Tarth, freshly taken down from the ship’s mast. A set of ornately carved figurines, each representing one of the Seven. There were a scattering of smaller things, but what drew his eye the most was a striking, bejewelled sword… in a plain leather scabbard.

‘I recall giving you a fine scabbard to match the sword, my lady,’ said Jaime, with a hint of his old mockery. She was sat on a stone bench, watching him.

‘I sold it. And some other things. One passage to Tarth, and one to Sunspear. Food and supplies for the journey.’

‘If you’d sold the sword, you could have bought passage to the other side of the world.’

Silence. Then: ‘I would never do _that_.’

Avoiding her gaze, he knelt down and picked up one of the figures, a tiny rendition of the Maiden. ‘Are these…’

‘From the family sept at Evenfall. There was once a gold-leafed altar too, but that was gone when I arrived. The gold, the stained glass, everything that had value.‘

‘My lady,’ he began gently, knowing that the question had to be asked, ‘what of your father’s remains?’

‘I saw bones,’ she said simply. ‘Lots and lots of bones. There seemed no way of telling which belonged to lords, which to smallfolk, and which to sellswords. I took the time to bury them all properly. Then I gathered what I could carry and left.’

The largest of the books looked old and well worn. _The Life and Deeds of Galladon The Perfect._ He was struck by an image of a youthful Brienne, already taller and broader than the boys, playing with a wooden sword and dreaming of being a knight...

He turned to look at the woman who sat before him. She’d tried, unsuccessfully, to tease her lank hair down over the mass of puckered scar tissue on her cheek. Her mouth was open a fraction, and he could see those crowded off-centre teeth, and the gap where two had been knocked out by Hoat’s men. Her skin had bronzed a little, perhaps from the time she’d spent on deck on the way here, and it had made her freckles stronger. Her jaw and nose were still broad and coarse… and despite everything, the sight made his heart lift a little.

And she still had those eyes, those rings of perfect blue, somehow unchanged after everything the girl had seen. _My lady_ , he thought, _Tarth might be gone, but your isle of sapphires lives on in one place_. He thought for a moment of the vile Rorge, who’d threatened to cut them out if she resisted his advances that night, and felt a rush of anger that almost brought him to tears. But the lady could protect herself. Months later, she’d told him, they’d met again, and this time she’d punched Oathkeeper through his chest and whispered ‘sapphires’ as the light left his eyes.

The Mummers had good reason to regret crossing Brienne. She’d sent five of the band back to the hells they’d crawled out from. But Zollo the Fat was still out there somewhere, most likely amusing sellswords in taverns with the story of the sport he’d had with the Kingslayer. Jaime’s phantom fingers itched, for the first time in months.

‘Jaime?’

He smiled again, hoping that it reached his eyes. ‘I feel better for seeing you again, m… Brienne. Alive and whole. I only wish you could be happy too.’

Her cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze.

‘You look… well,’ she managed. ‘Are you happy in exile, Jaime?’

‘I have… comparative freedom of movement, family close by, a few vagabonds who might pass for friends. If this is the punishment for all my black deeds, then the gods have smiled on me.’

She did not reply, and he found himself going on.

‘I feel like a loose thread sometimes, Brienne,’ he admitted. ‘Flapping around with no purpose. I spend time with Tommen and Myrcella, try to teach them all I know, but that was never very much to begin with. The smallfolk mutter the same old insults behind my back. The Prince plays his games, and reminds me far too much of Father.’ He scratched at his grey-flecked beard. ‘I was not renowned for my solemn adherence to my duties, but I believe miss them now that they have been taken from me.’

He clucked his tongue. ‘How is it you convince me to tell you everything, wench? You could sell your secret to the Faith’s interrogators and be wealthy for the rest of days.’

Brienne laughed at that, and Jaime felt the time they’d spent apart falling away.

‘About that, Ser Jaime,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I have used almost all of my coin. Could you-‘

‘I am, technically, a prisoner here,’ he lamented. ‘I have no wealth and next to no influence. But we’ll find some decent young lord or lady who would be willing to lend you some rooms to stay in. Willas is about gullible enough.’

‘I’ve heard he’s a good man,’ ventured Brienne. ‘He has lost much too.’

‘He’s always been a friend of the Martells. He might have more power here than he did in Highgarden. We can broach the subject over supper.’

He stood up, the leather of his tunic creaking, and offered her his right arm. After a moment, she hooked her own around it.  

‘Let me take you for a turn around the battlements, my lady. You can meet some of the fearsome guards who watch me so keenly. Then we can retire to the shade, drink some cool lemonwater, and I can imagine that I am a free man.’


End file.
